


Under the Tree

by withoutaplease



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 07:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5489480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutaplease/pseuds/withoutaplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and reader spend Christmas Eve at the bunker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Smut
> 
> Author’s Note: While this fic does fit into the Boyfriend!Sam continuity, you really don’t have to have read the series to enjoy it. It’s just a little fluffy smut. Merry Christmas, friends!

               They insisted the tree was for your benefit only, that they couldn't have cared less about celebrating the holiday if it wasn't for you being so far from home.  Putting it off until Christmas Eve, Dean made a big show of grumbling and cursing as he and Sam negotiated the little balsam fir down the bunker's stairs, leaving a trail of needles in its wake.  Nevertheless, they couldn't hide their smiles as you strung the lights and hung up a few ornaments over beer and Metallica.  It wasn't much, but as the three of you stood back, admiring your work, Sam slinging an affectionate arm around your shoulders and Dean proposing a toast ("To Metallica, and to family"), it started to feel like Christmas.

               That night, after Dean has gone to bed, you and Sam sit in contented silence, gazing at the flickering lights of the tree. Curled up on the sofa, you tuck your toes under his thigh for warmth.  “Cold?” he asks. “I can get you a sweater.”

               He moves as if to get up, and you grab hold of his arm to stop him, pausing for a moment to appreciate the way his bicep feels beneath soft flannel.  “Don’t you dare,” you say, shuffling your feet even further beneath him.  “This is perfect.”

               He settles back in and puts his arm around your bent knees.  “Yeah?” he asks, little specks of rainbow light reflected in his eyes.  The room is lit with about a dozen candles in addition to the tree, and a speaker somewhere nearby is piping out classical piano.  You feel the warmth of an eggnog buzz prickling high in your cheeks. You smile at him.

               “Yeah,” you confirm, “perfect,” and he smiles back.  He leans over to brush a kiss across your cheek, pausing to look down at the dainty silver necklace around your neck.

               “You really like it?” he asks, gently nudging the little pearl pendant he gifted you earlier this evening, brushing a calloused fingertip across your collarbone in the process.

               You smirk.  “I don’t know, is it true that you found it in a ghost lady's house?"

               He cringes for a second, giving you a precious look that simultaneously says _yes_ and _I'm sorry_. "I really wish Dean hadn't told you that," he says sheepishly.

               You laugh.  “I love it," you say. "It's beautiful. And if I get possessed by an angry old spinster later, you’re on the hook for burning it.”

               “I promise,” he says, chuckling.  He fingers the pearl a moment longer, then gazes up at you with wide eyes.  He slowly leans in and nuzzles against your jaw, your head tilting back at the urging of his nose.  With your neck exposed, he starts to trail soft, wet kisses along it, eliciting a deep, happy sigh as a shiver wakes up the nerves along your spine.

               "Should we take this somewhere more private?" you ask after enjoying the attention of Sam's plush lips on your throat for a minute or two.

               He barely lifts his head. "It's just you and me," he murmurs against the shell of your ear. "Dean knows better than to interrupt."  You grin as he catches your earlobe in his teeth.

               "You know, Santa won't come unless everyone's gone to bed," you say, suppressing a giggle as his breath tickles your ear.

               He comes back up to face you, winding slender fingers into the hair at the side of your head.  "He can wait," Sam says, decisively, before catching your lips in a sensuous kiss that tastes of rum and nutmeg.  You grin briefly against his lips, moaning your surrender into his mouth as his other hand cups your breast over your shirt.  He plies for entry with the tip of his tongue, and you surrender to that, too, letting his tongue and yours swirl together as he shifts on the couch to press on top of you, his hips driving your knees apart.

               You kiss yourselves senseless, necking and groping like teenagers, until your lips are swollen and your clothing is suddenly far too warm to tolerate. Your giggles and sighs echo in the vaulted ceilings of the bunker as you shuffle off shirts and socks and jeans.  When your panties and his jockeys have disappeared, flung playfully over the back of the couch, Sam grabs hold of you and pulls you down with him onto the floor.  You land on top of him with a surprised yelp, but your laughter is quickly swallowed up as he sits up to kiss you again, pulling you closer, letting his cock, hard and heavy, press into the inside of your thigh. He groans softly into your mouth as you grind your hips into him, letting his erection rub against the slick that has already collected between your folds.

               Sam reclines back onto the floor, reaching up with both hands to roll your nipples in his fingertips while you slide yourself up and down against his shaft, teasing him, getting him all wet.  You’re about to lower yourself onto him when he stops you.  “Come here,” he says, licking his lips, his hands moving from your breasts to your hips, urging you forward.  You feel a flush spreading in your chest, but you do as he says, crawling up the length of his torso while his hands cup your ass, until your pussy is hovering just over his lips.  His hands come around to grip your thighs, prying them further apart, and then he’s tipping his chin and parting your lips with a long, slow lap of his tongue.  You moan when he flicks it against your clit, sinking down further onto his face, knees digging into the weave of the rug beneath you.  He runs his tongue through your folds again, and again, each time slowly, each time with a flick against your clit, making it throb, making you ache for more.  Unconsciously, your hips start to undulate, pressing you into his mouth as he licks, drawing a moan from deep in his throat that vibrates against you.  He picks up speed, soft tongue working back and forth across your clit, sending up sparks low in your belly and making you gasp.  You rake the fingers of one hand into his hair and brace the other hand back onto his chest, panting as you tense up with the beginnings of your orgasm.  He doesn’t let up, even when you’re grinding helplessly against his chin, and when you whimper, “I’m gonna come,” his fingertips just dig deeper into your thighs.  He wraps his lips around your clit and the suction pushes you past the breaking point, almost doubling you over as you shout and spasm against his face.  When it subsides, you lean back with your weight on his chest, and he looks up at you, shiny-lipped, with a big, wolfish grin on his face.      

               You climb off and lie down next to him, laid out pressed against his side as you recover.  He lets you catch your breath, brushing kisses on your face and skimming his fingertips up and down your arm.  When you have your wind back, you skate a hand over his belly, grazing the valley of his hipbones with your fingernails, and he sucks in a hissing breath.  Your fingers find his cock, still hard, still slick with your juices, and he allows you to stroke it all of three times before he rolls himself on top of you with a growl.  He pauses to dip his tongue into your mouth again, kissing you long and deep before shifting down your body.  Then he's kneeling between your thighs, looking impossibly tall even with his legs folded beneath him, grinning down at you and tossing the hair out of his eyes with a shake of his head.  He takes you by the hips and hitches you up to meet him, slinging your legs in the crook of each arm in a swift, decisive motion.  He bites his lip as he slides himself slowly into you, watching your face as he holds your hips aloft and vulnerable, pulling out again as soon as he’s hilted and setting a slow, teasing pace as you arch and squirm beneath him.  It doesn’t last.  Soon enough he’s caught up in the feel of you, and his eyelids squeeze shut as he pumps his hips faster, harder.  A sheen of sweat glistens on his chest in the candlelight as his thrusts become relentless and his face screws up into a mask of pleasure.  Quickly overwhelmed again, your head lolls back, and the last thing you see before your vision goes white is the little fir tree, lights doubling and tripling as your eyes lose focus, until it resembles a sky full of stars.  

              You lie still together on the rug for a long while afterwards, keeping warm in each other’s arms, until Sam gets up to blow out the candles, padding around the room naked while you watch, grinning, drowsy and appreciative. He picks up all the clothes you've left strewn about, holding them bundled under one arm as he reaches to you with the other, helping you up off the floor.  You lean against him, letting him hold you up, and you stumble to the bedroom on spent, shaky legs.  "It's probably too late for Santa to change his Naughty or Nice list now, right?" you murmur sleepily as the two of you snuggle in under the covers.

              "Let him," Sam says with a smile, wrapping his arms around you and kissing the top if your head. "I already got everything I wanted under the tree."


End file.
